


The Sensation of Falling

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock has never understood the phrase "falling in love"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sensation of Falling

**Author's Note:**

>   beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/) **cardiac_logic**  who is just wonderful.

He had never really understood the saying “falling in love.” He had heard it used hundreds, even thousands, of times in his life, seeing as it was a quite common human turn of phrase, and although he liked to think that he understood what loving someone entailed, he had never really understood that particular sentiment.

He understands it now, because this feels like falling - uncontrollable, unstoppable, and if he’s being honest, terrifying. Except of course that falling, like any other form of physical danger, never frightened him. It was what happened, and sometimes it was an acceptable risk. This is not an acceptable risk, as his mind keeps telling him over and over again; there is nothing acceptable about this.

It’s late at night and the sky has darkened to an intense blue he’s not used to; the scrub that covers the land here looks grey in the near darkness and the mountains in the distance look dark purple, it’s very beautiful and nothing like his home should be. This is not truly his home yet. He does not think of T’Prel, or the Vulcan that still is. He knows that she will have taken another mate by now and he can only feel grateful for this, for he never loved her even though she was brilliant and a good match for him in his old age. Perhaps he is too human, for although he did after so many years finally fulfill his duty, he could never bring himself to look upon her with affection. She was not who he wanted, but who he wanted by then had been gone.

The wind picks up again, bringing with it fine, pink dust that tastes like iron and reminds him of human blood. He crosses his arms over his chest in a gesture almost protective in its nature and goes back inside the house. The house is warm and clean, lit by human lamps that shine a soft yellow light, very different from the pale white light the lamps in his old house had given off. McCoy had never liked those lights; they reminded him of sickbay, he’d always said, and he’d left that behind years ago. Spock had considered tinting them red, which was more traditional for Vulcan interior lighting anyway, but McCoy had said to forget it, that would just be moving from bad to worse. He tries not to think of this now, but his memories betray him, and for a moment all he can see is a white haired head, body made tiny from age curled on the couch, bent over a PADD.

His Leonard straightens up, tall, strong, and much too young; he puts the PADD he has been reading aside and stands. Spock fights against the sensation of falling, and reaches out and McCoy takes three long steps across the room and catches his arm.

“Careful.” McCoy’s voice is deep and his arms are strong and Spock clutches at him for a moment before he remembers himself and straightens, letting go of the other man.

“I am well,” he assures him, and McCoy’s hand reaches forward, callused fingers tracing Spock’s face.

“Yeah.” McCoy says with a small smile, “How was the sunset?”

Spock doesn’t reply because he can think of no good answer to that question, the sunset having been as it was every night. Instead he takes McCoy’s hand in his, draws it away from his own face, clasps it between both of his hands.

“Leonard.”His voice unintentionally lower than it needs to be considering they are the only ones there, and McCoy’s arm comes around his body, drawing him close to the other man. McCoy presses his face into Spock’s hair, breathes against him so that their cheeks press together, so close, and Spock closes his eyes and lets them just be close for a long moment. He takes several deeps breaths, noticing McCoy’s scent, which is something dark and clean, which surprisingly reminds him both of Earth’s soil and soap. Illogical. Somehow he is not surprised. He takes several more deep breaths and McCoy mutters something against his hair that Spock, even with his superior hearing, cannot make out. “Leonard?” he says again, and McCoy pulls back a little ways from him.

“I said you’re beautiful,” McCoy tells him, and Spock’s brows rise because he knows that this is not true. He was considered striking once, but that was a long time ago. There is something like hunger in McCoy’s eyes now though. He leans forward, catching Spock’s lips with his own, kisses him deeply, with passion and need and all those things Spock had not expected to encounter again. Spock draws the other man close into his arms, feeling the solidness of him against his own body, the coolness of his skin against Spock’s own. McCoy’s lips are soft and full, his hands large; his waist is slim, and Spock’s arms fit well around it. McCoy undoes several of the clasps on the shirt to Spock’s human suit with ease. McCoy presses his face against Spock’s throat, lips gently mapping skin, and Spock holds onto the other man tightly, kisses his hair, lets his fingertips brush against bare skin at the small of McCoy’s back where his worn t-shirt rides up. McCoy untangles himself for a moment and takes the soft cushions off the couch and puts them on the floor, where the rug is thick and light brown. He lays Spock down gently and undoes the rest of the clasps on his shirt, pulls it off and sets it aside, removes Spock’s undershirt as well and slowly explores his chest with fingertips and lips. There is no hurry, only a slow burning desire and Spock reaches up and pulls McCoy’s t-shirt off, puts it aside and runs his own hands up McCoy’s body, notes its well defined muscles and lines, the dark hair in the very center of the other man’s chest. McCoy’s own fingers touch Spock’s chest again, run across the lines and plains of it, where he still retains strength in his chest, where his stomach becomes soft. McCoy’s fingertips touch his nipples almost experimentally and Spock’s eyes flicker shut and McCoy makes a sound deep in his chest, leans down, his mouth pressing against first one and then the other. Spock carts his fingers through McCoy’s soft, dark hair, feels the play of muscles across his wide back. McCoy’s strong fingers undo the clasp of Spock’s pants, push them down his legs; he sits back and folds them carefully, sets them aside, and Spock watches him quietly, lying still against the soft cushions, lets McCoy look at him with eyes that are dark, the color of amber. McCoy settles between Spock’s thighs and kisses the softness of his belly, strong fingers against Spock’s hips, and what had once been a slower burn of desire is now stronger, but Spock sees no reason to make McCoy move faster in his slow exploration and they will both be satisfied soon enough.

“What do you want?” McCoy asks softly; his voice has become deeper than Spock is used to, overlaid by his sweet drawl.

“I do not understand the question,” Spock says softly, pushing himself up on his arms to gaze down at the other man. McCoy’s eyes are wide and dark, and his smile comes slowly, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“What do you want me to do to get you off, what would you enjoy?” McCoy’s long fingers move across Spock’s thighs again, avoiding Spock’s erection, and Spock’s eyes flicker shut momentarily.

He thinks about this question, realizes he has never considered it before. “Whatever will bring you pleasure, Leonard,” he finally says, and McCoy’s smile widens and he leans forward to kiss Spock’s stomach again.

“Ok,” he says softly and shifts up Spock’s body to kiss him softly on the lips, and Spock lets his hands come up and thread through McCoy’s hair, pulls him closer, tastes McCoy’s lips and then the inside of his mouth slowly, taking his time. He traps the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugs on it gently, and is gratified by the low groan he receives. He undoes McCoy’s jeans, pushes them down off his hips, and McCoy kicks them off his legs while Spock allows his hand to explore the other man’s thighs and ass. McCoy is all firm, cool skin and muscle and he moves slowly against Spock, rubbing their bodies together. Finally McCoy catches one of Spock’s hands in his own, raises it and kisses along the back, kissing the age loosened skin at the knuckles. Spock sighs softly in pleasure and McCoy smiles slowly, kisses the tips of each finger, licks across Spock’s palm. Spock spreads his legs a little wider, can’t help but move against McCoy’s body, feeling his erection rub against the crease of McCoy’s strong thigh.

“Leonard.” Spock pushes his chest up against the younger man’s, mouths along McCoy’s shoulder, tastes sweat and salt. He kisses the other man on the mouth open and wet. They are both panting and McCoy reaches down between their bodies, strokes up Spock’s erection, and Spock’s hands clamp around McCoy’s upper arms and he feels the muscles move under his fingers. “Leonard,” Spock says again, almost surprised that they are there at all and McCoy kisses his neck, kisses just behind one of his ears.

“Finding you . . .” McCoy says, voice deep and soft, but he doesn’t finish the thought, only kisses Spock again urgently and moves down the other man’s body to take his cock into his mouth. Spock closes his eyes, lets his hand rest lightly on McCoy’s head and McCoy’s mouth is wet and cool and his fingers know where to touch Spock lightly at the base, farther down between his legs and Spock does not speak, does not allow himself sound, but he tightens his other hand on McCoy’s wrist, rubs small circles against his pulse, hopes the other man understands. It’s like falling up, Spock thinks dimly as McCoy’s mouth envelopes him, pulls him close; he feels something deep inside him twist, feels himself jerk up without meaning to and McCoy’s hand pushes him back down. Spock opens his eyes then and pushes himself up a little to watch the other man, and McCoy’s body moves, his mouth moving on Spock, his body moving against the floor, pale and soft and beautiful. There is a faint prickle of stubble where McCoy’s chin brushes against Spock’s thigh, and he is everything Spock wants and Spock lies back, runs his hand against McCoy’s shoulder and arms and hair feeling as much of him as he can reach. He’s close, he knows he is, and McCoy’s eyes are closed and he moans, the sound going straight down Spock’s length to pool in his belly. Spock arches back, eyes closing, and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, and he tries to project this feeling to McCoy and then remembers that isn’t an option. For several long moments Spock lies looking at the ceiling, and when he looks down again McCoy is licking his lips, head resting against Spock’s thigh. McCoy has come too, Spock notes, and feels irrationally disappointed at that. He reaches down one hand; McCoy takes it, comes and crawls up to lie beside him, and Spock turns to him, presses his lips to McCoy’s. Spock cannot help but shiver very slightly as they pull away, for the night outside is cool and McCoy’s body is much cooler than Spock’s, so he cannot seek physical warmth from him. McCoy puts his arms around Spock’s body anyway, pulls him close.

“I should get you to bed.” His voice is still soft and slow and Spock feels fatigue creep over him and he nods against McCoy’s chest.

“That would be acceptable, Leonard.”

McCoy pulls them both up and leads Spock through the house to the bedroom, and Spock thinks briefly of the living room in disarray and their clothes they have left behind. McCoy pushes him gently onto the bed and gets in after him, pulls the blankets around them, and it’s too warm for a human with the combination of the room’s temperature and the heavy blankets, but he doesn’t complain, only puts his arms around Spock and pulls the older man against his cool, strong chest. Spock leans his head against McCoy’s shoulder, allows his eyes to close and just lets himself fall.

  



End file.
